ble agony, the consummation of her own unhappy
destiny.

The sounds of ascending feet were now heard in the passage without; and
presently, while the clangour of a thousand demons seemed to ring
throughout the upper part of the building, a man rushed furiously into
the room. The blood of the young girl curdled in her veins. She
mechanically grasped the ledge of the window on which her aching head
still reposed, and with her eyes firmly closed, to shut out from view
the fiend whose sight she dreaded, even more than the death which
threatened her, quietly awaited the blow that was to terminate at once
her misery and her life. Scarcely, however, had the feet of the
intruder pressed the sanctuary of her bedchamber, when the heavy door,
strongly studded with nails, was pushed rapidly to, and bolt and lock
were heard sliding into their several sockets. Before Clara could raise
her head to discover the cause of this movement, she felt herself
firmly secured in the grasp of an encircling arm, and borne hastily
through the room. An instinctive sense of something worse even than
death now flashed across the mind of the unhappy girl; and while she
feared to unclose her eyes, she struggled violently to disengage
herself.

"Clara! dear Miss de Haldimar, do you not know me?" exclaimed her
supporter, while, placing her for a moment on a seat, he proceeded to
secure the fastenings of the second door, that led from the bed-chamber
into the larger apartment.

Re-assured by the tones of a voice which, even in that dreadful moment
of trial and destruction, were familiar to her ear, the trembling girl
opened her eyes wildly upon her protector. A slight scream of terror
marked her painful sense of the recognition. It was Captain Baynton
whom she beheld: but how unlike the officer who a few minutes before
had been conversing with her from the ramparts. His fine hair, matted
with blood, now hung loosely and disfiguringly over his eyes, and his
pallid face and brow were covered with gore spots, the evident
spatterings from the wounds of others; while a stream that issued from
one side of his head attested he himself had not escaped unhurt in the
cruel melee. A skirt and a lappel had been torn from his uniform,
which, together with other portions of his dress, were now stained in
various parts by the blood continually flowing from his wound.

"Oh, Captain Baynton," murmured the fainting girl, her whole soul
sinking within her, as she gazed